No Claim on You
by Troubled Produce
Summary: Renee sends Bella off with her friend Esme and her family in London when Bella acts out. The Cullens welcome her with open arms. What happens when quiet, brooding Emmett and rebellious Edward both take notice of her? AH. Co-written with Foolish Eyes.
1. Chapter 1

_**Ciao Fanfickers. Not a word? Oh well. This is a story I wrote with Foolish Eyes... I strongly suggest you check her out. Please read and review whether you like it or not. So... Go!**_

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Life will flash before my eyes  
So scattered and lost  
I want to touch the other side  
And no one thinks they are to blame  
Why can't we see  
That when we bleed, we bleed the same?  
--Muse, "Map of the Problematique" 

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"You don't get it, do you? She's a _brat,_" Phil yelled at my mom, Renee.

"Where am I going to send her, Phil? She's my _daughter_." My mother's voice was troubled and rough, and I swore I heard it crack slightly. I slid my back down the wall that I had planted my ear against. I didn't want to listen anymore, but with the volumes of their voices and the glass objects breaking in the other room, it was hard not to.

"Fine, Renee. Do what you want. She's not my problem," he sneered, and I heard a door slam.

"Phil!" she shrilled. "_Phil!"_

I could hear Renee's footsteps as she chased after him yet again.

I dragged myself up to my bed, not wanting to hear anymore, and immediately reached for my music player and shoved the headphones into my ears. I didn't care what song was playing, but I still turned it up to full volume, trying to block out the sounds of yet another heated debate.

I quickly fell asleep—I was accustomed to this routine. Listen to fight, fall asleep, and wake up only to pretend nothing had happened. I was getting really sick of being lied about to my own overly trusting mother.

I woke up the next morning, took a freezing shower, and headed downstairs to start another day of playing dumb. The smell of burnt pancake batter emanated from the stainless steel kitchen. Renee turned around at the sound of my softly pattering footsteps.

"Hey Bells," she greeted somewhat cheerfully with a faltering smile. I walked over to the pantry to grab a near-empty box of Fruity Pebbles and a glass bowl out of the cupboard.

"Morning," I greeted in my usual flat tone. This morning was no different than most others except for the blackened pancakes on the stove. Renee never cooked unless she was trying to lighten the blow of a serious matter with an attempt at good housekeeping.

"Oh, honey," Renee said with a slight whine of disappointment in her voice. "I made you pancakes. You like pancakes, don't you, baby?" She held up the skillet with a hopeful expression on her more-than-weary face.

I hated pancakes.

"Oh, yeah, of course." I smiled weakly and turned to put my breakfast materials back in their rightful places. I didn't have the heart to make her feel like a worse mom than she already was. There was obviously something on her mind and I didn't want to contribute to her worries.p

Renee smiled a little and slid the overly browned pancakes onto a plate, buttering them with a steak knife. I tried to hold back a small chuckle at my mother's naivety. She set the plate in front of me after drenching the poor, dead pancakes in syrup. I tried not to throw up at the mixed odors of my least favorite foods. Renee sat down next to me, watching me with innocent blue eyes until I took a dreadful bite. I chewed the gooey, burnt wad of half-cooked batter, resisting the overwhelming urge to gag.

"So? How did I do?" she asked, her expression still weary. I was suddenly very worried about her. How much had I missed after I had fallen asleep?

I swallowed the awful crap with a lump in my throat, willing myself not to dry heave. "Great." I even added a small smile for effect.

"Oh, yay," she whispered a little breathlessly, looking down at her twiddling thumbs. "Look, Bella…"

"Yes?" I asked after a moment of silence.

Renee tugged at the ends of her short brown hair. "Do you remember Esme that I used to tell you about?" She looked up at me with her wide cerulean eyes. I wracked my brain for the face that matched the somewhat familiar name.

"Not really. Refresh my memory." I'd heard numerous stories of my mom's best friends from high school but I couldn't really remember if I had met her.

"She used to come to your ballet recitals when she came to visit," Renee offered, thin eyebrows furrowing on a sun-browned forehead.

"No wonder I don't remember her."

My mom laughed shortly before returning back to her abnormally worried face. "Well, she got married to a doctor… I never thought she of all people would settle down…" She seemed to be muttering to herself at this point, and her expression was a little less negative than before. "She has three kids now, all around your age… She finally quit that stupid aircraft program..."

"Mom"—I couldn't call her Renee to her face—"what are you getting at here?"

Renee let out a heavy exhale. "Bella, honey, you remember what I was like after"—she gulped—"after… Ch-Charlie… died…" I saw a thin line of tears forming on her eyes. I nodded in response—I hated talking about this. "And you know that after all that time, Phil was the only person who could fill that space."

I nodded again. I didn't want anything I said to upset her, knowing that I was most likely set to blurt out how she'd gotten so attached to me, not wanting to lose me too, and how I'd never seen her cry so much in those two and a half dark years.

"I've been with him for almost two years, but you know that. Every relationship has its issues, and if we want to keep Phil in our lives, we're going to have to do our best to make things livable for each one of us." She began to pick at a manicured fingernail, which indicated that she was stressed and nervous. I didn't like where this conversation was headed.

Renee continued. "Sweetie, before I say this, you need to know that I love you more than life itself and only want what's best for you—"

"Just say it already, Mom." My voice was low and almost ominous. Renee looked startled but took a breath and proceeded nonetheless.

"Um… okay then… um—" she sputtered. I was becoming angrier by the second.

"_What is it?_" I hissed through my teeth.

"We're sending you to live with Esme." Her voice was flat and inflectionless.

I stood up quickly, suddenly irate. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?" I nearly yelled.

"Honey, Phil is going to start traveling with the team soon, and—"

"Are you _serious_? I'm your fucking _daughter_! You're really going to choose that selfish son of a bitch over your own flesh and blood?" I was further infuriated by her calm demeanor. However, she suddenly became defensive.

"I'm not _choosing _anyone. I'm making the best decision for this family!" She was now standing as well.

"You call this a family? You're sending me off to live with someone I don't ever recall meeting so you can follow Phil around like some lost puppy!" I didn't realize that I was jabbing my finger in the air toward her.

"You shut your mouth! We wouldn't be living like we are if it weren't for Phil. I just thought you might want to live in one place instead of riding around the country with me and my husband." Renee crossed her arms over her chest, obviously trying to control some anger.

I was slightly taken aback by her ounce of consideration for me and my wellbeing. However, the usage of her and Phil as an entity rather than me and her, how it always had been, made the rage return at full force. I didn't remember a time when I had ever been this angry, especially at my own mother.

"Jesus, Mom! Sometimes I don't even feel like I know you anymore. You used to have a mind until your bastard of a husband took control of it. Ever since Charlie died, you've been an entirely different person," I shouted, unable to stop myself. Renee looked down, bewildered, and slumped back down into her seat. I tried to ignore the tug of guilt in my stomach.

"Your flight leaves Saturday night. I suggest you start packing," she stated in a cold, cutting voice that fiercely contradicted the sunlight pouring through the two story windows that exposed the desert landscape.

I turned on my heel, absolutely furious. I nearly stomped up the stairs and had almost made it to my room before Renee said one last thing.

"I'd pack your raincoat if I were you. The weather is pretty damp in London."

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**I'm still creating a playlist for this and if you look on Foolish Eye's profile she will soon have a link to her playlist for the story. **

**Do not forget to leave your review. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Um...Hi. I just wanted to know... why do you hate me? One review on the last chapter. Hopefully after this you'll send one in. Please? Thank you, Kerry Hale for the review, and I love your name. On with it! **

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_Can you help me remember how to smile?  
Make it somehow all seem worthwhile?  
How on earth did I get so jaded?  
Life's mystery seems so faded.  
--Soul Asylum, "Runaway Train"_

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I had just finished packing Ratty T-Shirt Number Three when I heard a knock on my door. Curious as to why someone would want to talk to me after my very justified outburst yesterday morning, I paused my CD player and walked to my bedroom door.

I opened the white-painted wood door to see Renee standing in front of me with her arms crossed. We stood in silence until she made the first move.

"You can't hide from me forever, you know," she said flatly, walking past me and into my room. I turned around to face her.

"I was packing," I stated obviously, gesturing to the empty drawers and the two luggage bags on my bed.

"I see that."

I walked over to my bed to fold my pair of jeans and place them carefully in the bag. I fidgeted with my clothes to avoid conversation. The room was quiet for a few minutes like the calm before a storm.

"The only reason we're doing this is because of your behavior," she said quietly, as if it rectified her sending me halfway across the country to live with people I barely knew just so she could screw her husband in private and quit fighting.

I stayed silent—I was used to being thought of as a heartless bitch of a daughter, thanks to Phil's lies that he constantly fed to Renee.

"You don't have anything to say?" I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for a response, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. I remained quiet. "Alright, then. I just hope you use this time to repair yourself." She stood from my rocking chair in the corner of the room, walked carefully out of the room, and closed the door almost silently behind her.

I didn't bother to state my case, knowing Phil was a control freak and had manipulated my mom into only trusting him. How ironic that nothing that came out of his mouth was even close to truthful.

I turned my CD player back on, turning up the volume to a level that I knew Renee would find annoying. As I finished packing, I found it sad that ever since Phil had wormed his way into our lives, it became increasingly difficult to think of her as a mother.

I angrily wiped away the single tear that formed and fell from my eye, willing myself not to let this entire situation bother me.

--

I had not gotten much sleep the night before but I got out of bed at a time that was reasonable for someone to wake up. This was my last day in Phoenix, and looking at the desert landscape out my window, I found myself thinking about how I would miss this place.

I made my way down to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. I could already hear Phil and Renee going at it in their bedroom downstairs. Although their voices were muffled, it wasn't difficult to hear what was going on. The door to their bedroom was obviously open.

"Look at this house, Renee. Think about her brand-new car outside. We've given her all of this. I'm _glad_ you aren't blind to how she really is anymore. I love you too much to let you go because of _her_." Phil's voice was loud and venomous. He knew she couldn't handle losing the only person that filled the void that Charlie had once filled, and he was using that to his advantage. It made me _sick._

I couldn't fathom why I didn't just march my way down there and contradict everything Phil said with the truth. I knew it would do no good—the lies were already planted in her head. I still felt like a coward for sitting here and taking it.

"I'm sorry I ever doubted you, Phil," Renee said in a desperate tone, as though she were begging him for forgiveness, which she was constantly doing. "Her behavior recently is just as bad as you've been saying."

"I know, baby, I know. This year's going to be good for her. I _promise," _Phil reassured in a saccharine voice.

"A _year?" _ Renee asked, shocked. "I thought we decided she would go for the semester and be home by Christmas!"

"Imagine how she would feel if you told her she had to switch schools in the middle of the year, Renee. She's already acted out on you." His voice was controlling and firm. He was turning the tables, making her seem like the bad guy. I slumped on the stairs, being careful not make noise or fall in the spaces between the wooden panels.

"But…" Renee hesitated. "I don't know if Esme would be willing to keep her that long, especially with her… behavioral issues," she told him, her voice almost sounding like she was exchanging a secret.

"It's already been arranged. There's nothing more to be said about this matter, Renee." His tone held a strong ring of finality. "Now go take a shower and eat some lunch. We have to take her to the airport in three hours." I heard the faint sound of a kiss before she left the room silently.

Panicked that Renee would catch me eavesdropping, I scrambled to stand up and walk down the stairs, prepared to act oblivious yet again. I saw Renee walking toward the kitchen, her body tense.

Just like yesterday, my footsteps pattered on the floor like rain against a roof, signaling my arrival. Renee turned around swiftly, almost in a frightened manner.

"Oh. It's just you," she breathed, holding her hand to her chest. I simply continued walking to the huge steel refrigerator. The air around me was instantly cooler as I opened it and grabbed an apple out of the see-through drawer.

"Don't you think you're a little too old for the silent treatment, Bella?" Renee asked, obviously irritated.

I bit into my apple. "It's not the silent treatment, Renee," I replied in a mocking tone. "I just have nothing to say to you."

"Do you plan on being a _little_ nicer to me before you leave for a year?" Her calm was wearing thin.

I didn't show any amount of surprise on my face. At this point, I could care less if she knew I had heard every word of their conversation. "I'm not one for being superficial, unlike some of us," I told her pointedly.

Renee's eyes tightened before she switched the subject. "I hope the reason you woke up at noon was because you were finishing your packing and not doing something destructive."

"Every minute I'm in this fucking house is destructive." My anger was ardent and unbridled. Renee's eyes widened and she suddenly looked furious. I ignored her expression, turned around sharply, and made my way to my room in a seemingly emotionless manner. I shut the door to the only good part of this house—my room—quietly.

I was suddenly not the least bit upset about leaving.

--

Six hours later, after listening to phony, cheerful chatter between Renee and Phil through the airport procedures, we arrived at the terminal for the flight to Atlanta. I was supposed to board in only four minutes and the faster I could get away from their fake happiness, the better.

I thought it funny that Phil and Renee, Phil especially, were even pretending they would miss me. I knew it was obvious to them that I could see past their façade.

"Have a good time, kiddo," Phil said, flashing his professionally whitened teeth and even attempting to muss my hair. I dodged successfully.

"You better e-mail me every day, since I know how expensive it is to make calls overseas," Renee said, her hands on my shoulders. She kissed my forehead. "Send Esme my love."

"Sure thing," I replied in dull voice. A feminine voice began speaking calmly over the intercom, signaling the passengers to begin boarding the plane. I was extremely relieved to end the awkward goodbyes. I picked up my beat-up messenger bag—my carry-on—and hoped Renee wouldn't try to hug me.

She did.

"Love you, Bells," she told me with the first hint of sincerity I'd heard from her in days. She whispered it so quietly, almost as if she didn't want Phil to hear. I actually hugged her back, just slightly, so she might see that I'm not the girl Phil has made me out to be.

"Love you too, Mom," I whispered softly as we squeezed each other tightly. The voice on the intercom repeated the same message in Spanish, reminding me that I had to go. I looked into my mom's childlike, trusting blue eyes before I turned and walked to the line of passengers that was formed before the aluminum tunnel that led to the plane. I didn't look back as I showed my ticket to the attendant and walked to the plane.

After I had boarded and found my seat—a window seat, thank God—I waited until the nerve-wracking liftoff was over before I pulled my iPod out of my bag and turned on "How Will You Survive" by Azure Ray, the most serene song I could find at the moment. I watched the sunset from the small, square window, seeing the pink and orange sun wedge its way between the craggy rock mountains of the darkening desert. I paid no attention to the cheesy romantic comedy playing on the little screen attached to the ceiling of the plane.

I pretended like I was asleep every time the flight attendant made her rounds, due to my fear of talking to people I didn't know very well. The goofy man in the brown suit next to me was typing what I thought to be a report for his job. I considered myself lucky that I was in a low-key section of the plane, one without noisy kids or fat, chortling tourists that wore bright, patterned button-down shirts and talked about their families.

The night was just darkening when the plane landed in Atlanta. The airport was much busier than the one in Phoenix had been, so it took a longer time than expected to get a chicken sandwich from the Chick-Fil-A that was conveniently located all the way across the airport from my terminal. I could even taste the sarcasm in my thoughts.

I sat in a somewhat quiet section of my terminal after running my ass off to get there, nibbling on my fried chicken sandwich. I began to examine the eclectic mix of people I would be flying with this evening.

There was a frustrated mom trying to reign in her two white-blonde sons, a twenty-something guy dressed in all denim with a mohawk and enormous black headphones, an agitated man in a gray suit with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a cell phone to his ear, a grossly tan woman flipping her hair and looking into a compact, a plump man reading a brochure on plastic surgery. These were the only people I noticed before I finished my sandwich and we were called to board the plane.

I was closer to the back of this more crowded plane, but I wasn't in such a quiet section this time, but thankfully I had a window seat again. The mom and her kids were in the seats directly behind me, and I had to turn my music to almost full volume to drown out the high-pitched whining. Right before the skinny, blonde flight attendant reached my row, I actually fell asleep.

What seemed like minutes later, I was gently shaken awake by a freckled, redheaded man who was sitting next to me. I saw the maps showing how close the plane was to the airport on the television above instead of the movie that had started playing when I fell asleep. I took out my headphones.

"Sorry, miss. I just wanted to wake you up before we landed," he told me in a soft voice with a British accent. I assumed he was on his way home.

"Thank you," I told him with a small smile, putting my things back into my bag. A few minutes later the plane started descending toward the ground. I didn't look out the window for fear that I would get sick.

I did not notice that the sky was gray and blanketed with clouds until I saw through the airport windows. My mother had warned me about such weather being a daily occurrence, and I suddenly wished I had packed my jacket in my carry-on. It was late June, however, so I hoped it wouldn't be _too _bad to be wearing only a thin white t-shirt and jeans.

Within the hour, I had picked up my bags and grabbed a peach yogurt from a little breakfast café that was just closing. It was almost noon here. I counted the hours on my fingers. It would be four in the morning in Phoenix, and I would have gone to bed around ten thirty.

I hoped I could manage lugging my heavy bag around the airport without collapsing.

An enthusiastic man in an airport uniform politely guided me toward the exit at which I was told to meet the Cullens. My stomach trembled at the thought of meeting the family, since I had no idea what to expect.

I trudged my way to the escalators, trying to stop my hands from shaking as I willed myself not to trip on the moving stairs. I carefully stepped on behind a rail-thin woman with neon orange hair, silently applauding myself for not falling on top of her.

As I rolled down the electronic staircase I could see a few excited families and drivers in black uniforms that were holding up signs with names on them. More and more people became visible as I neared the bottom. I slightly stumbled off the escalator and immediately began searching for a family with no young children.

At the other end of the crowd, I saw a white poster board that looked like it was made by a craft-happy five-year-old girl. It had several colors of glitter caked on and plastic jewels all along the border. In the very middle of the poster, fluorescent pink letters spelled out B-E-L-L-A that stuck out like a sore thumb against the plain black-and-white signs everyone else held.

I stifled a groan—I thought Renee said all the children were around my age. The sign severely contradicted that statement. I grinned slightly after taking another look at the ridiculously overdone poster.

I walked toward the sign, ignoring the chatter of people around me. Soon enough, I found the bearer of my sign.

Thin white arms held up the poster. She was wearing an almost knee-length white sundress with black ballet flats. She was probably only five feet tall, give or take an inch, but by her figure that she was older than her height suggested. I finally looked at her face, which consisted of sharp yet delicate features, alabaster skin and wide, searching light green eyes, all framed by neatly styled jet-black hair that flared out at the ends, right next to her chin. She seemed oddly approachable, so I stopped fidgeting with the handle of my bag and walked over to her.

She noticed me instantly.

"Bella?" she trilled, slightly cocking her head to the side. Her British accent was very apparent in her high voice. I nodded in response to her.

"Hello, I'm Alice. It's nice to meet you," she said genuinely with a smile. "Mum—I mean, Esme—has told me a lot about you."

I smiled a little, not being able to get over the accent. It was _great_. "I'm Bella, obviously," I told her, pointing to her overzealous sign. "Did you make that?" My voice sounded so un-cool in comparison.

"This?" she asked, looking at the sign that was now by her side. "Yeah, do you like it? I just threw something together. I'm a _sucker _for sparkles." She giggled. "Want to head out to the car?"

I nodded and followed as she unknowingly strutted to the parking lot. After walking a good distance through the busy lot of cars we arrived at a space where a gold Lexus SUV was parked. Alice took out a pair of black keys and clicked a button on them, making the lights on the car flash. A small thud-like noise sounded before the trunk opened.

"You can toss your luggage in the boot," she offered as she skipped over to the right side of the car.

"Wait… you… you want me to drive?" I asked, confused. Alice laughed a little before walking over to me and slipping my bag off of my shoulder. She threw it in the "boot".

"No, you silly American!" Alice exclaimed playfully as she shut the trunk. "In Europe, the driver's side is on the right of the car." She patted my arm. "You'll grow accustomed to all of this soon enough."

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**Bye.**


	3. Chapter 3

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_It's just a ride, it's just a ride  
Don't be scared  
Don't hide your eyes  
It may feel so real inside  
But don't forget it's just a ride  
--Jem, "Just a Ride"_

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"Sorry you aren't going to see any of London right now," Alice told me as she sped down the left side of the road. "We have to take a less scenic route to get home."

"How far away is your house from the city?" I asked, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

"It's only about ten minutes away. Less if you go at my speed," she said with a mischievous smile.

"Should I be scared?"

Alice laughed charmingly. "Not until the filth catches me. Besides, it's not like Esme's car can exactly haul arse," she told me. She had a very refined accent. "That _is_ an American phrase, isn't it?"

It was my turn to laugh. "Sure, why not."

We made decreasingly awkward small talk as Alice drove through the incredibly beautiful countryside. The beautifully manicured bright green lawns were spread out in front of enormous houses, which were lined by trees and hedges. There were a few estates with massive ponds before them.

Alice finally turned onto a narrow, seemingly never-ending, loosely paved path in a heavily shaded forest. The lack of sunlight didn't help my current state of exhaustion, but at least Alice had slowed down from her ridiculously high speed. The road was bumpy, so every time my eyelids began to fall I was jolted awake by the car bouncing a bit roughly.

Alice must have sensed my fatigue, for she did not ask me any more polite questions about myself. It was alright, though, because the house was in sight soon enough.

The forest surrounded the landscape but we were now riding on a path in a clearing. Just like the other estates I had seen, an expanse of green grass surrounded the house. There were different kinds of trees, flowers, and shrubbery placed randomly through the field. A lovely white house sat in the middle of it all.

Slightly hidden behind dogwood trees was a classic, almost antique house. There was an abundance of windows, each framed by large white shutters. Even though they were the same color as the house, they seemed almost prominent against it. It appeared to be divided into three sections, the middle one farther back than the two at its sides. The brown-gray roof seemed to break the dull sky with its gently sloping shape and two chimneys. There were three protruding windows on the roof in between the chimneys.

As Alice steered the car down the road that ran down the side of the estate, appearing to lead to the garage, I was in awe of how beautiful—not to mention large—the house was. I made a hypothesis that the house was most likely inherited from older family members—no house like that was made within the last century.

"Before we head in, I just wanted to warn you that the house is shockingly quiet today," Alice warned, looking over to me with a smile. She had noticed my obvious ogling of the house.

"Might I ask why?" I chuckled.

"Mum and Dad are at work, Eddie's still in Switzerland skiing, and God only knows where Em is." She laughed again shortly. "I told them they could have the day off so I could pick you up… plus, I can tell you inevitably have jetlag and don't want to go through the whole meet-and-greet process."

"Thank you," I said gratefully as she pulled into the garage. She pulled the keys out of the ignition and hopped out of the car. Before I could even make my sluggish body open the door, Alice had already opened the trunk and grabbed my bag. I was surprised she didn't collapse under the weight of it; actually, she carried it as though it were not trouble to her at all.

"I'll give you a tour of the house whenever you wake up. For now, let's head to your room."

I was too tired to observe the warmly lit interior of the house as I trudged down the hall and up the stairs behind her. Alice still didn't seem to have problems hauling my bag over her ostensibly frail shoulders.

"And here we are," she stated, gesturing gracefully to a door and opening it. "Tada!" she said, dropping my bag with a small muffled thud as it hit the chocolate brown carpet. The only thing I could see was the bed, the fluffy purple masterpiece that it was. My unfortunately fatigued body yearned for it.

Alice must have seen me eyeing it almost lovingly because she grabbed the door knob and began backing out of the room. "You get some shut eye. I'll talk to you when you wake up." She smiled and shut the door.

The last thing I remembered was taking off my jeans and crawling under the plush comforter, drifting almost instantly into sleep.

--

My body felt stiff and achy when I finally woke up. The clock next to my bed read that it was six in the morning. I wondered if I had been in a coma since I was now tired from oversleeping.

I sat up in my incredibly comfortable bed, stretching my arms above my head and feeling the joints pop. I rolled my shoulders backward and forward, attempting to loosen the muscles, yawned and got out of bed.

I now was aware and alert enough to check out my new room. I had bare, lavender walls and a brown rug centered perfectly on the wooden floor. The shades matched the ones on my patterned comforter and in the several throw pillows laid out at the head of my bed. There was a wooden armoire that matched the color of the floors—it was a buttery tan that somehow matched the deep brown on other pieces of furniture. There was a flat black television screen hanging on the wall in front of my bed, and a silver remote control was next to the lamp and alarm clock on the bedside table.

I walked into what I assumed to be my closet. Instead, there was another door leading into a small yet elegant bathroom with a beautiful shower that was the length and width of my king-size bed. The floor and countertops in the bathroom were white marble that was swirled with gray. A large mirror with a black frame hung over the sink. I almost felt like I was in a luxurious hotel, but it definitely had a more homey feel.

I went back into the bedroom, finally seeing the white door that had to lead to my closet. Opening the door, I was taken aback by how _huge_ the closet was. It was brightly lit by a small crystal chandelier, and there was a top row and bottom row with tons of hangers on the rods. I knew my stuff could never occupy a quarter of the massive beast that was this closet. There were two walls to hang clothes on, one wall full of drawers, and one wall with a grid of meticulously lined compartments for shoes. A rectangular black suede stool sat in the middle of the all-white room. It was excessive for someone like me, but I couldn't help but be fascinated by how large it was.

I was tempted to run back in the bathroom and take an hour-long shower, but my stomach grumbled loudly, so I put my jeans back on and quietly stepped out into the hall, closing my door quietly behind me.

The hallway was very broad, designed in a very simple way. The lines were clean and sharp, the walls were a crisp white—just like my closet—the floors were shiny and wooden, and huge, abstract pieces of art hung on the walls. There were only two more doors in the hallway before I reached the winding staircase.

I noticed the interior was surprisingly modern, more than one would assume with such a classic façade. I wandered through the house, hoping to find the kitchen soon enough. I finally walked down the rest of the winding staircase, only to arrive in a mustard-colored room with dark granite countertops and a large island in the middle. Again, it was decorated simply, but this room was definitely more lived-in than the other rooms I had seen so far.

The smell of eggs wafted to my nose along with the faint odor of burnt toast as I walked farther into the room. A fully dressed blonde man was stirring a black spatula around a skillet while whistling a tune I didn't recognize. There was also a very tall man leaning deep into the wide, steel refrigerator. I guess my footsteps were louder than I thought, because the blonde man turned around and grinned.

"Good morning," he greeted, wiping his hands off on a rag and walking over to me. I tried to stifle a slight blush.

"Fuck!" the taller man whispered loudly, pulling a burnt bagel out of the toaster.

"Emmett," the blonde man warned disapprovingly. The tall man just scratched the back of his neck and muttered "sorry". He turned back to me, holding his hand out for me to shake. "You'll have to excuse him. I'm Carlisle Cullen. You must be Bella." His voice was just as kind as his smile, and his accent was very clear. I took his hand and shook it.

"Yes sir," I replied quietly. "Nice to meet you."

"Can I offer you some breakfast?" Carlisle asked, walking back over to stir his egg whites.

"Oh, no thank you," I replied, sneaking a glance from my peripherals at Emmett and his tall, looming figure. He was now sitting at the table, hunching over the newspaper is which he was fully enthralled. He seemed to take no notice to my presence. "I'll just grab something from the fridge."

I stepped nervously over to the refrigerator, passing right by Emmett. He kept his head down, still ignoring me completely. I secretly hoped he would keep his head down since I looked like shit with my wrinkled shirt and tumbleweed of hair. I didn't know why I felt like he shouldn't see me this way—it probably wouldn't have mattered with anyone else.

I heard a few sharp whispers as I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a carton of strawberry yogurt. I turned around, shutting the door behind me.

"Carlisle, do you have a spoon?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," he told me, opening a drawer and pulling out a spoon with a sound of metal sliding against metal. "Here you go." I took it from him and smiled.

"Thank you." I walked over to the table as Carlisle placed some cantaloupe on his plate, sitting two seats down from the brooding Emmett, who was at the head of the table. His burnt bagel was smothered in strawberry jam. I tried not to look at him too much, in fear of him catching me, but his dark, solemn demeanor was almost captivating, but cold at the same time. His dark, curly hair hung over his, shading it and further showing his personality was one of introversion and solitude, for the most part. It was all I had gathered from the few seconds I had studied him.

The clanking of silverware in a sink snapped me out of my reverie. I looked over to see Carlisle rinsing off his plate. I was almost astonished at how fast an eater he was. I opened my carton of yogurt, peeling the aluminum lid back and licking the excess yogurt off of it.

When I set it down on the table, I became aware of Emmett gazing over at me, but when I met his clear, light brown eyes, he simply looked back to the folded paper in his hand. I tried to ignore the tingling I felt in the back of my head as I shoved my spoon into my yogurt.

"Alright, kids, I'm headed to the hospital. Bella, we're glad to have you here," he said, causing me to blush just slightly once again. He grabbed his keys off the counter and adjusted the top button of his blue button-down.

"I'm glad to be here. Thank you for having me," I told him softly, realizing how stupid I was for making it sound like they had invited me here. Carlisle smiled and walked toward the door that I assumed led to the garage. He hit the back of Emmett's chair on his way out.

It was silent for a moment as I ate the cold, creamy breakfast. I swirled the strawberry bits around in my mouth before biting into them and tasting their slightly tart sweetness.

I heard Emmett's chair scrape against the floor as he rose from the table. I heard him put his plate in the sink with a loud crashing noise and then I felt him walk in my direction.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said in a deep, muted voice as he passed behind me. I whirled around to see him just after he spoke, but he had already exited the room. I slumped down in my chair, a bit astonished for reasons unknown. After just ten minutes with him I found that he was quite an enigma.

And for some strange reason, I wanted to figure him out.

* * *

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